Cura Te Ipsum
by Atomix330
Summary: August 1919 and it is back to some semblance of normality for some residents of Field Hospital 25A. A few welcome faces return while new ones 'pop up!


**Cura Te Ipsum – Chapter One**

 **August 1919**

"You have an impressive record Miss Livesey. Seven years at the Royal Liverpool Infirmary before the war where you made Sister. But there's nothing after 1915."

"I wasn't able to work."

"Why?" asked the doctor, looking up from her application lying on the desk.

"I'm sorry?"

"It's just to clarify your work history," the doctor smiled slightly.

"But as you already know, I wasn't working. That makes it personal history."

The doctor raised an eyebrow.

* * *

Matron Grace Carter was uncharacteristically late to her meeting to interview the new nursing sister. An incompetent trainee had upset a pile of unwashed bedpans on the men's surgical ward just as she was about to head to Doctor Maxwell's office. He was one of the senior surgeons at the East Sussex Hospital. She had joined the civilian establishment as Matron soon after Field Hospital 25A had been demobilised in the wake of the Armistice. The tents and huts that had served the nurses, doctors and VADs of 25A so well for so long were deemed inadequate and unnecessary with the cessation of hostilities.

The parting of ways was a little emotional. Roland Brett was moving on to a new posting within France. In another life, perhaps if she hadn't been Matron…in any case, it was too late to be dwelling on such things. She had her vocation and went on to join the Territorial Force Nursing Service.

Kitty Trevelyan and Captain Gillan's relationship by 1918 had become an open secret and they were going to start a new life in Edinburgh together. Eager Flora Marshall was thinking of pursuing a nursing career but had returned to her parents while Rosalie Berwick had decided to stay on the Continent and see some of Europe as an independent woman.

Margaret Quayle, had eventually sought a transfer to a Casualty Clearing Station nearer the front line in mid-1916. Grace hadn't heard from her old mentor and later nemesis, since.

Neither, until that moment, had she heard of the whereabouts of one Joan Livesey.

* * *

There was a knock at the door.

"Ah, that will be Matron," Maxwell exclaimed on hearing the sound from behind Joan, diffusing the tension in the room. "Come in," he called.

"I'm sorry I'm late. Have we started already Doctor?" Grace asked, entering the room.

"As a matter of fact we had, Matron. Allow me to introduce…"

"Matron Carter?" Joan turned in her chair to face Grace at the sound of her old superior's (and dare she say friend's) voice.

"Joan?"

"You two know each other?"

"We have worked together before." Grace worded her response carefully.

"I see. It's just I was querying Miss Livesey's employment record. There seems to be nothing after 1915."

"Sister Livesey and I nursed together in France."

"France?"

"During the war, Sir."

"I joined the Territorials in Liverpool and was posted to France. After a few months I became ill and was put on a convoy home." Joan lied.

"Well why didn't you mention it before?"

"I didn't feel it was worth mentioning Sir. It was somewhat embarrassing. A nurse getting ill at a hospital."

"I see."

"She was an invaluable asset to our hospital in France and an excellent nurse." Grace smiled gently at her former colleague. "I can vouch for her, Doctor." Joan's eyes widened slightly. "Nurses are my responsibility and I'd very much like to have Sister Livesey on my staff." Grace dared him to contradict her.

"Well, when you put it like that Matron," Maxwell sighed inwardly. "Congratulations Miss Livesey. It seems you have the position. I'm sure Matron can get you settled."

"Sister Livesey, if you would like to follow me to my office." Grace said briskly, recognising the dismissal.

"Of course."

* * *

"Have a seat, Joan." Grace indicated one of the chairs in front of her desk before closing the office door and going to sit behind it.

"My apologies for Maxwell. He's an adequate surgeon but an awful administrator," she began. "But you have some explaining to do. I see you married him, eventually. Anton?" she glanced at the pale band of skin on Joan's ring finger.

"A registry office. 3 weeks ago."

"You didn't take his name."

"Joan Livesey is more employable than Joan Erhlich."

"What happened after you left us in France?" asked Grace, genuinely curious.

"I was interned at Holloway. Anton was sent to a camp in Dorset. He said it was more comfortable than a trench so there was a silver lining. I managed to obtain a position in the infirmary at Holloway after several months and worked there for the rest of the war. Anton was released soon after the Armistice but he had to wait to be given leave to remain. I wanted to get out of London and so we came here. Of course, I didn't know we would meet again."

"No, quite." The two women sat in an easy silence.

"I'm sorry Matron."

"There was a war on Joan. And please, call me Grace, we've been through too much together to continue to refer to each other by rank. You're not the first or the last woman to make a mistake. Besides, it wasn't a mistake that undermined your professional skills."

"Thank you, Grace."

"Some tea I think. Before I introduce you to the staff here." As Grace went to the kettle, there was a knock at the door.

"Come in."

"The post for you, Matron," announced the young woman who had just entered, carrying a pile of letters.

"Thank you Nurse Lee. While you are here, you may as well meet Sister Joan Livesey. She will be overseeing your ward from tomorrow."

"Welcome to East Sussex, Sister."

Joan merely smiled and nodded. Nurse Lee reminded her of Flora Marshall.

"That will be all Nurse Lee." Grace dismissed her.

"How long have you been here Grace?"

"A little under 6 months. I was demobilised and moved to the Territorials' reserve after the Armistice. 25A was one of the first hospitals to close in early December last year."

"Do you still hear from the others?"

"Kitty Trevelyan and Flora Marshall write occasionally. Roland, I should say Colonel Brett is still working in France I believe."

"Everybody made it through then. I'm glad." Joan sipped her tea.

"I never did find out what happened to Sister Quayle. She transferred to a Casualty Clearing Station. Nobody I know has heard from her since. For the best I suppose." Grace mused as she looked through her post. Her eyes lingering on her address in a familiar hand.

The missive was short.

 _Grace,_

 _It would be a pleasure to have you at Godalming for a little party we are having to celebrate my return on Sunday the 31_ _st_ _of August. Please wire me your intentions and I can arrange a driver to meet you at the station._

 _Yours as ever,_

 _Roland Brett (Col. RAMC. Ret. (Almost!))_

"What happened to Rosalie Berwick?" Joan asked, shaking Grace's thoughts from the invitation.

"She decided to travel on the Continent," Grace replied. She looked out of the window a little wistfully.

"Good for her!"

An uneasy silence settled.

Joan decided to break it.

"So, you want me to start tomorrow?"

There was no response.

"Grace?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You seemed a thousand miles away."

"Just a letter from an old friend. Colonel Brett as it happens. He's coming home."

"That is good to hear. His sons? How did they fair?"

"Freddie fell, as I think you know. Alexander hadn't finished at Sandhurst by the time of the Armistice."

Joan sighed. "Do you ever wonder what it was all for?"

"Sometimes. But if anything, the war taught me to live in the present. Now where were we?" Grace shuffled the papers on her desk. "I assume that you are living with Anton?"

"We've managed to rent a flat in Hastings."

"Good. Otherwise I would have had arranged a room for you at the Nurses home."

"We can work out your rota this afternoon. But first, while I have for your uniform to be brought here, I can show you the ward."

* * *

 _A/N: Rewatched the series recently and agree with the majority who feel that cancellation was a mistake. Then I read some impressive imaginings of what happened next. Review if you have time._


End file.
